


you have chosen the hard way

by hips_of_steel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-WWII, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 06:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: It's 1947 and the second world war has been over for two years. Texas can see California's hiding a war wound that's never fully healed, and he's running the risk of it causing permanent damage. Despite Sam's feelings about said Californian, he can't stand by and watch him pretend everything's alright.So they can either do this Sam's way, or the hard way, and Roberto has chosen the hard way.





	you have chosen the hard way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crikadelic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crikadelic/gifts).



> I must give credit where it is due. However, this story featured MANY cameos of the original APH State characters of friends. A complete list will be given with credit in the end notes, along with which state they represent. HOWEVER...
> 
> Like always, Sam Seguin (APH Texas) belongs to the wonderful crikadelic, and Roberto Fremont (APH California) and Beverly Joseph-Astor (APH Oregon) belong to myself.

**_June, 1947_ **

Something’s wrong with Roberto, and Sam knows it. You don’t follow a man longingly with your eyes for thirty years and  _ not _ notice what’s wrong.

It’s his right leg, the mid to upper thigh, and its making him limp. Sam knows exactly why it’s bothering him. Four years ago, deep in the jungles of a small Pacific island, Roberto had been shot there. Sam remembered that day with terror. A desperate tourniquet, realizing that the bullet had clipped the femoral artery, and watching Rob bleed out on the jungle floor after promising him he’d protect his sisters, should something more permanent ever happen to him.

Sam had carried his body back to the camp and immediately contacted Alfred. It had been easy enough to explain the situation, and be temporarily relieved from duty. He’d tended to Roberto in the humid sweltering heat while waiting for him to resurrect, and then for a little while after.

Alfred had been shuffling him around during the last war, and shortly afterwards, he was dragged to Italy, and then England. He hadn’t seen if it had healed well, or how much it was bothering Roberto.

But when they had gotten home, it quickly became very obvious.

Most days, Roberto manages hide it from everyone, including Beverly, but Sam can see it clear as day (he’s sure Chelo must be able to as well, but Baja’s not around enough to see how much abuse her brother is putting himself through).

He is limping  _ constantly _ , his right leg always in pain. Sometimes after a particularly long meeting, Sam can even see him wince when he stands up, sorely rubbing at his right thigh.

It was  _ hurting _ him, and he wasn’t  _ doing anything about it _ .

Sam was also noticing the other ways it was affecting him. Roberto always dances! Always!

But here they were, having a dance after the meeting, and Roberto was nowhere to be found. He’d claimed he felt ill, and dismissed himself to bed.

_ Bullshit! _ His leg was bothering him today, like it  _ always _ is anymore. In fact, today it had been noticeable.

Sam had nearly called Roberto out on his bullshit when he told Beverly he’d just slept on it wrong. But he’d held his tongue.

He’d try to handle it like an adult first, before he dragged underhand techniques into it. The problem was, that required actually  _ talking _ to Roberto.

Which was going to be a  _ slight _ issue.

Sam groaned as he downed a drink. Talking to pretty men had always been hard enough for him, let alone Roberto, but it had to be done. No one else would call him out on it, no one else seemed to notice it. 

He should do it now, before too many of the other states started heading off, and spotted him going to California’s room, or would overhear their discussion. He groaned again, and then glanced over at Beverly.

She was laughing, dragging poor Adam (who looked about as comfortable as a stiff board) out to dance with her. He had to do this for her. She loves him as a brother, and though she’d never say it to Roberto, she loves Rob just as much as she loves Sam. They’re two of her three pillars in her family, Christopher being the other.

And if Roberto was hurt on his watch, then Beverly will be after his hide if something goes terribly wrong with Rob.

So, watching Beverly laugh as Adam looks desperately at Chris for a rescue, he downs another drink, slams the glass down, and turns to leave.

He manages to slip away without anyone seeming to notice, except perhaps June, who seems to know where he must be headed from the look she gives him, but he grits his teeth and goes anyways.

It’s only up a couple sets of stairs (surely more agony for the man to climb up) that he reaches the Californian’s room, and takes a deep breath. He angles himself in such a way to forcibly hold the door open if need be (undoubtedly, he’ll have too), and knocks.

There’s silence, so he knocks again, louder, and then he hears a grumble, and shuffling feet coming to the door.

Roberto opens the door fully to his surprise, and Sam does his best to look at least in the general area of his face, even if he can’t look him in the eyes. “We need to talk.”

There’s silence, and instead of attempting to slam the door shut in his face, like Sam expects, Roberto sighs.

“Fine, come in. Just shut the door behind you.”

Sam pauses, and then follows Roberto back into the room, shutting the door behind him as asked.

He’s taken off his suit jacket, folded over the back of the chair where he sets himself. His suitcase is open in the corner, and Sam averts his eyes, thinking the best of looking too closely. Roberto gestures towards the end of the bed for him to sit, and so, awkwardly, he does.

Rob pulls out a cigarette, and offers Sam one, which he accepts. He pulls a lighter out and lights his first, and then offers Sam it.

Sam tries not to focus on the way their hands brush as he takes the lighter, just trying to focus on the cigarette in his mouth.

It’s the same brand Jan Kees smokes, expensive and high quality. To a certain extent, he didn’t expect anything less. Roberto had grown from a rough and tumble vaquero with striking blue tattoos on his chin to a man who hid his tattoos with his slight beard (just thick enough to hide them) and seemed to appreciate the finer things in life. Sam takes a few drags on the cigarette before glancing back at Roberto, as he sets his lighter down on the table.

He’s staring out the window, eyes distant. Remembering something unpleasant, if the way he brings his cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag on it is any indicator. Sam tries not to think about how elegantly that hand moves as it pulls away, or how he wants to bring his own lips to those lips and  _ taste _ the smoke rolling out of that mouth. He’s the definition of Hollywood’s sex appeal, and Sam  _ wants _ him.

_ Focus, Seguín! You’re not here to stare absentmindedly at the fucking gorgeous Californian! _ Some deep part of his brain yells at him, and Sam takes a long drag on the cigarette to refocus his thoughts, remembering Beverly downstairs.

He has to do this for her.

So he exhales and turns, and Roberto looks at him.

“So… we need to talk.” The Californian says.

“Yes.” Sam manages, and takes a short puff. “We need to talk about that leg of yours.”

Roberto pauses, and then snorts, turning to look back out the window. “What is there to talk about? It healed. You should know, you watched it kill me, and then saw me resurrect.”

“I seriously doubt that it healed completely.” Sam says with a slightly annoyed tone, and takes a deep breath again before continuing. “You’re limping with that right leg. Oh, don’t give me that look! We both know you are! How the hell you’ve kept it hidden from Bevo’s a damn fucking mystery to me, but you didn’t heal!”

Roberto is glaring at him now. “I slept on it wrong.” He says, his tone well and truly pissed. “It’s been sore for a day, don’t act like the world is ending over it.”

“Bullshit!” Sam snaps. “You’re limping on the regular, and we both know it. That right leg’s been bothering you, and you aren’t treating it. If it gets worse, it’s not ever going to heal, and you’re damn near abusing yourself to that point by refusing to acknowledge it.”

“I am not-”

“Oh really? So if I call Chelo she’ll tell me she saw no sign of a limp when you went to visit her at the end of the war? Or when she’s been up to see you since?”

Roberto’s face goes pale. He knows if Sam calls his older sister, she’ll rat him out immediately to the Texan in concern for her younger brother. Sam leans back slightly, trying not to look too smug that Roberto’s face has just given him away.

Roberto nearly slams the cigarette back into his mouth, taking a long drag in the most angry manner he can, and then blowing the smoke out in a manner resembling a dragon with flames. “So what? Why the fuck should you care? Wouldn’t that just be the thing for you? Standing there tall and strong while I limp around? Don’t pretend to give a fucking shit about me, Texas, it won’t win you any favors.”

Sam stands and storms over right into Roberto’s space, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray on the table in order to grab the arms of the chair and lean directly into Roberto’s space. “I fucking care because if Beverly finds out you got hurt on my watch, and that you hurt yourself worse because you refused to acknowledge that it hadn’t healed, she’ll have both our hides.”

Roberto glares directly at him, and he’s so close Sam could cross that gap in a moment. He could grab him and have him on the bed and under him so fast that it’s not even funny. But for this moment, he needs to focus on his mission. 

Rob leans close, brown eyes full of a hissing hatred, and Sam wishes he didn’t want him so badly when he  _ knows _ Roberto will never want him back. But he steals this little moment away, looking directly into those dark brown eyes.

And Roberto nearly growls the next sentence.

“Get out.”

“We can do this like  _ civilized _ people, or we can do this the _ hard _ way, Frémont.” Sam growls. “You kick me out of this room, we do it the hard way.”

Roberto stands fast, and Sam’s glad he was expecting this, yanking back before Roberto’s head meets his nose and breaks it. Roberto growls, lifting his cigarette dangerously close to Sam’s face.

“Oh, I remember your ‘hard way’, Texas! Shoot me or I shoot you, wasn’t it? I still bear that scar, don’t think I’ve forgotten!”

Sam glares. “This is not the revolution-”

“Like hell! Every war is the independence, revolution, and civil war all in one! I never interfered with your unhealed wounds, don’t mess with mine!” Roberto leans close, the cigarette still too close for comfort. “You’ve left a damn mark on me already, don’t fucking act like things have changed.”

They stare right back at the other. So much has changed since then, and they both know it, but Roberto is refusing to see sense, and has to pull something out of his fucking ass to try and explain it away.

And so then he repeats his earlier sentiment.

“Get out of my room.”

Sam’s eyes are as much fire as Roberto’s are, he’s sure, but he growls out a few insults under his breath in Caddo (he’s sure they’re returned rapid fire in Mojave, if Roberto’s mumbling has anything to say about that), and heads to the door.

He opens it, and then turns. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way then.”

And before Roberto can retort, he slams the door shut and storms off towards his own room.

He needs another drink, but he doesn’t dare go back downstairs. Beverly will somehow sense that they had a fight, and he needs time to cool off and formulate a plan before he sets her loose with this knowledge. 

Luckily for him, he finds a bottle of whiskey sitting by the door of his room, a small note folded up underneath.

_ Thought you might need this ~ June _

“Thank you, Junebug.” He says to the empty hallway, opening up the door to his room and heading inside.

It’s only as he opens the bottle of whiskey he remembers his abandoned cigarette in Roberto’s room, and groans.

Finishing that smoke might have helped…

***

Roberto finishes his own cigarette swiftly, thoughts flying through his head too fast to form coherent sentences. He groans as he grinds out the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray.

Why did his mouth always run away from him? There had been actual worry in the Texan’s eyes, and he’d all but chased him off as fast as he could! He growled out a few insults at himself, and finally threw himself back down into the chair across from the bed, groaning again.

He sees his lighter on the table, and puts it in his pocket, and then glances over at the ashtray.

Sam’s cigarette is slowly burning, some tobacco still left.

He reaches over and picks it up, imagining the Texan’s long fingers holding it, twirling it around, while there’s a thoughtful expression on his face. Roberto doesn’t admit it to himself even, as he brings this cigarette to his lips, that it’s more of a moan that escapes him than a groan.

_ Sam’s lips were here… _ He thinks as he takes a long, slow drag off of the cigarette.  _ Sam was here… oh god, he was here. _

He finishes this cigarette slowly, closing his eyes and imagining that Sam is still here, but instead of yelling, they’ve found…  _ something else _ … to occupy their time with.

When he finally grinds this cigarette out in the ashtray, he stands and opens the window, letting a blast of cold air wash over him and calm him down.

He gazes out into the night and sighs.

_ Someday… someday… _

***

**_October, 1947_ **

Sam’s waited long enough that he’s cooled down. It’s been a few months since the last meeting, and he’s about ready to put his plan into action. It hinges on one thing, and one thing alone.

Roberto’s leg bothering him to the point he refuses to dance.

Very slightly, over the last year, Sam’s seen it getting worse. That’s why he confronted Roberto last time. He hasn’t spoken to Baja California. Calling Chelo for confirmation on what he already knows might show his hand, and he intends to catch Rob off guard, not have him wary.

So he just has to wait out the day.

It’s bothering him  _ again _ , but not noticeably today. He barely brushes his hand against that thigh when he stands, but Sam doesn’t believe for a second that it doesn’t hurt when he sees that slightly off kilter gait that has defined how Roberto walks for the past few years.

Beverly glances over at him. She’s sitting next to him today. “Something wrong, Sammy?”

He turns and shakes his head, trying not to give away his lie. “Ain’t nothing really,  _ diablita _ . Just lost in thought.”

Bev looks him over, but his pokerface must be convincing, because she nods. “Alright. Come on, let’s go get some food.”

***

Lunch is at a nearby diner. Martha seems to have gotten a section set aside for them, from the looks of it. Clark and Adam are shoving each other around, Chris is talking to Rosa (mental note to evaluate that later, Chris has started to look at his sister much differently recently, and he doesn’t like it). Martha and Alejandra are chatting, and Beverly sits down with a thud, patting the seat next to her for Sam.

“Roberto bail on us?” Bev asks Alejandra after they’ve ordered, and Alejandra just rolls her eyes.

“Of course he did, you brought the yeehaws.” Alejandra looks at Sam with a shrug. “I told him he’s just being an idiot, but he does as he does, what can I say?”

Sam shrugs right back at her. He  _ tolerates _ Alejandra. But she gets on well with Christopher, so here she is, sipping at a milkshake and shrugging off the remarks of the others with ease. Martha and she end up quietly gossiping through the rest of the meal, and that’s that solved.

This place has good food, Sam thinks as he’s eating his burger, and swiping fries off of Beverly’s plate (it’s not his fault they didn’t put enough on his for a tall Texan man, he informs her when she glares at him and whirls the plate around to protect her fries from him). Anyhow, he thinks maybe he’ll come here again sometime, he’ll just have to order a second plate of food for himself (Martha takes pity on him and gives him her fries when she’s full).

They head back to where the meeting is held, and Sam spots Roberto smoking off in the far corner of the yard. Beverly glances over, and sighs, glancing back at him.

“I hate the smell of that damned smoke… I don’t know how either of you tolerate it.”

Sam shrugs, and Chris snorts. “Aw Bev, you complain about my chew, cigarettes would be easier to clean up-”

“You show up at my place smelling like cigarette smoke, you aren’t getting let inside. The chew’s bad enough.” She growls, and Chris laughs, glancing at Sam.

“Can’t win either way with her, can we?”

Sam gives an amused smile back at Chris, and Bev takes “a final breath of good air” before heading back into the building.

But Sam keeps watch out of the corner of his eye for Roberto to reenter the room, and watches how he walks as he does.

There’s that limp, always present.

He sighs, and glances at Beverly, whose excitedly chattering away with Martha. 

Tonight, he’s going to need a little bit of luck, and just hope things go well.

***

“Alright.” Alfred says, finally calling the day to an end. “Alright, we’re done. Food’s down in the ballroom, and then when dinner’s done they’ll clear away the tables, and there will be the usual revelry. Just no burning the place down- OR FLOODING IT, MARCO, I SEE THAT GRIN!”

Sam rolls his eyes as they all head downstairs, following the promise of food. Marco and Jackie snarking back and forth while Ellis looks on amusement and Russell walks nearby in oblivion. Helen and June whispering in a conspiratorial manner, glancing back at Clark, who appears to be hiding behind Adam and Chris as best he can, well aware of Helen’s intentions. Beverly has raced ahead, pestering Seth and Jan Kees, who are glaring at each other over her head (in fact, undoubtedly thanks to her). Martha and Evelyn have found each other and began to talk animatedly, probably about planes. His own sister, Rosa, is talking with Lilakai and Victorio, and he takes a deep breath before looking for Roberto.

He’s towards the back of the crowd, like he normally is anymore, Alejandra next to him. They’re talking quietly, and Alejandra looks angry.

Sam supposes she must know what Roberto’s doing to himself as well. Alejandra is often forgotten in comparison to Rob. She doesn’t like to talk as much, and would just prefer to stay home most of the time. But as she hisses something out, storming forward to go stand next to Chris, Roberto looks like he regrets his actions.

Sam turns away before Roberto catches him looking at him. But he takes a deep breath, glancing at Beverly again. She’s next to Haiwee now, and given the way Jan and Seth are glaring each other and arguing, he’s not surprised to see money changing hands, and Beverly grins in thanks before slipping back to him.

“The house always wins, you know.” He says, and Bev glances up at him.

“Well, sometimes the house hires a little ‘help’.” She says, shoving the money in her pocket. “Besides, I brought up sports… a fight’s guaranteed!”

Sam snorted. “Who’s going to win today?”

“Jan, he’s been fucking livid inside over something all day and has been looking to blow off steam. Seth meanwhile wasn’t mad until I arrived.”

Before they even reached the ballroom, the fight had broken out as predicted, and once Alfred got in to break it up, Jan Kees was by far coming out on top.

That was close enough for Haiwee to glance back at Beverly and nod, and Bev grinned. “I’ll be collecting the rest of my cut later. It’s a pleasure doing business with her.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, as long as you come out on top, that is.”

“Never gamble more than you’re willing to lose.” Bev said, flashing him a smile. “Learned that lesson well enough.”

Sam nods, and then thinks about Roberto.

He’s gambling a lot. The use of his right leg as normal for the rest of his life, his ability to dance comfortably and confidentially, and his ability to run and fight. As infuriating as he is, Sam can’t let him lose this bet. Roberto seems to think he’s willing to lose it, but Sam  _ knows _ if he does, he’s going to be miserable the rest of his life.

So he heads into the ballroom and eats dinner, sitting down with Lilakai, Victorio, Rosa, June, and Helen at a table, and he waits. It will only be a few hours until he can finally end this damn charade Roberto is gambling too much on, once and for all.

***

The tables and chairs are cleared fast, the band on the stage is fast and  _ good _ , and there’s drinks available that they only have to ask for. That’s the nice thing about this economy after the war. They’re strong, and wealthy again, and Alfred’s picking up their tabs. There’s a budget, and such, but this feels different than the twenties. 

So Sam drinks tequila and waits.

Roberto’s tucked himself into a far corner, writing in a notebook, pretending that he’s busy, but Sam knows better than that. He doesn’t want to get on the dance floor and have anyone notice that his rhythm is off and start asking questions.

Which is exactly why Sam is waiting for Beverly to come pester him. 

Soon enough, she comes along, getting a glass of rum (not her first, he notes) and almost immediately leaning right into his side. “Hey Sammy!”

“Don’t you have a Mainer to be kissing?” He teases quietly so no one else hears, gesturing to where Charlotte and Ellis are talking. Beverly grins.

“Maybe I already have been spending my evening doing that, you don’t know…”

“I do, I can see you across this room, you know.”

Bev sticks out her tongue, and he snorts. “Alright, Bevo, you’ve made your point.”

She grins as she downs her rum fast. He’d think she was starting to get a little tipsy, but their kind is made of stronger stuff than that. It’s just the atmosphere of the room that has her like this, grinning as she glances over towards the dancefloor.

Sam glances over as well and sees Chris and Rosa (goddamnit, he can’t do anything about that right now) dancing away. Beverly giggles.

“Chrissie Lou has a crush…”

“Shnishtopher’s going to be having a conversation with me later.” Sam says, glaring across the top of his tequila glass.

“Just don’t kill him, okay?”

“Not even a little?” Sam asks, and Beverly laughs.

“No! Not even a little!”

“You take all the fun out of life, Bevo.”

She grins, leaning right up tight against him again. “You know you love me!”

_ Here’s his opening. _ Sam grins, slinging an arm around her. “Yeah, yeah, I know I do. Now how about you go over and pester Roberto? He’s had his damn nose buried in that notebook all night, hasn’t went to the dance floor once. Go drag him out there.”

Beverly glances over and grins. “With pleasure.”

And as she walks away, Sam takes a deep breath.

The secret will be out in a few minutes now, and Roberto is going to have to admit to Beverly what’s wrong.

And once she knows, well…

There won’t be any stopping her until she gets what she wants.

***

Roberto almost doesn’t see Beverly until she’s right in front of him, leaning down with a laugh.

“Hey Berto, put away your books and come dance!”

He glances up, and swears internally. Beverly knows him too well. If he refuses too much, she’ll know something’s wrong. But if he gets up and dances, she’ll detect he’s off quick enough. He taught her to dance, and she’s damn good at it, she knows when he screws up, and calls him on it.

“No, sorry Bev. I can’t. I really need to get this done.” He says, trying to turn back to his notebook, pretending to be messing with finances and a budget. “If I don’t get this figured out in two days, I’m going to have a major problem.”

Beverly looks over and raises an eyebrow curiously. “A budget? A fucking budget?”

“Language.” Roberto responds without looking up, not that he’s going to have any effect on that now. Bev’s spent too much time with Sam and in logging camps to not use ‘fuck’ as an everyday word.

Beverly is glaring at him in annoyance, he knows, and suddenly she yanks the book away from him, slamming it shut. He jerks his head up, and Bev gives him a  _ look _ . 

“You can do a budget any day, and you’re good and fast at it, I remember the Civil War.” She says, dropping the notebook into his open briefcase. “Pack it up, we’re fucking dancing.”

“Bev-” He starts, but she sounds pissed off now, her tone different, and her voice slightly raised as she responds.

“We get to have opportunities like this only once every few months at max, or once a year, or even less! It’s been since the twenties that we’ve danced after meetings, and you’ve been excusing yourself from every fucking dance since you got back from the Pacific! What the fuck is going on?!”

_ Shit. _ Beverly has noticed that he’s been absent. She doesn’t know why, and up until now, she seems to have been buying his lies.

So why the sudden change?

It doesn’t take long for him to realize, and he hardly has to glance to see Sam watching them from across the room.

He’s been fucking  _ set up _ by that fucking jackass.

So he changes his own tone, lowering his voice, but letting anger seep into it. “Fine, you want to dance, we’ll go fucking dance, I don’t give two shits!”

He stands up, and starts to move his papers into his briefcase, but Beverly grabs his arm, her tone softening considerably. 

“Rob, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” He snaps. “Come on, let’s go fucking dance.”

But as he starts to tug away from Beverly, her grip tightens.

“No.” She mutters, and next thing he knows, she’s dragging him from the room.

He could actually resist and fight back if he wanted, but not only will that cause a scene, it will bring too much scrutiny down on him. And Beverly will probably look like a kicked puppy when it’s done, especially if he storms off after shoving her away from him.

So he shoots a murderous look at Sam, who merely shrugs, and follows after Beverly.

She drags him to her room, and then makes him sit down on the bed as she slams herself down into the chair, glaring at him. It’s almost the reverse of the last meeting, where Sam sat across from him.

“What the sincere fuck has gotten into you?! And for the love of God, Roberto, don’t fucking lie to me!”

Roberto glares. “What’s gotten into me? What has gotten into you?! I was just quietly doing things that need to be done, and you interrupted me-”

“You never miss a chance to dance!” Beverly shouts over him, standing back up. “You taught me everything you knew on a dancefloor when I was a kid, and Martha almost knew how to dance before she could walk, Clark too! So what’s wrong with you?! What happened in that fucking war that’s keeping you from doing the things you love?!”

There’s tears half formed in her eyes from her frustrated yelling. Beverly’s a tough kid, but when it comes to confrontations like this, the tears are almost always there. She knows something is wrong, and she’s angry and concerned all in one moment, so she shouts  _ and _ cries. And it pulls right on his heart, playing him almost like a damn fiddle.

She’s looking at him, expecting an answer, and he doesn’t respond, reaching into his pocket to fiddle with his lighter, turning it over in his hands and refusing to meet her gaze.

“Berto, please, for the love of God, fucking answer me…” She finally manages, her voice cracking. “What’s going on?”

“War wound.” He mutters darkly, gazing towards an unspecified location on the floor. “It hurts to dance… I can’t move my right leg fast enough to keep in step without shooting pain.” He pauses, and then decides _ fuck it _ . If he doesn’t come completely clean, Sam’s just going to set Bev loose on him again. “Hurts to walk as well, but I manage. Been doing just fine for four years, I can keep doing it for forty.”

“And what about four hundred?” Beverly presses, her voice tight. “Rob, that sounds like it hasn’t healed at all, or that it’s healed wrong… Have you gone to see a doctor?”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I can live! Why should I be bothered by it if my heart’s still beating in my chest, and they still call my land overflowing with milk and honey?!” Roberto snaps, making eye contact with her for a moment, and then breaking it immediately, glancing back down at the floor. “I watched countless boys die… Japanese and American alike, Australian, British, and I could go on. We all carry wounds, visible or not. The difference is, I’ve been fighting for over a hundred years whereas those boys are mere children. Why should my wounds heal when they have to carry theirs for the rest of their lives?”

Beverly leans down, and her hands grab his face, forcing him to look at her.

“Because we care, Rob. We want you to still be standing tall in a hundred years. We want you to be able to enjoy life again. Don’t… don’t try to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Berto. It’s not your burden to bear.”

He gazes back at her, and she looks at him, concern deep in her eyes. 

“We almost lost Clark in the aftermath of the last war, hermano. Don’t make me fight to keep you alive in the aftermath of this one.”

Roberto looks at her for a few more seconds, and then leans forward, and she wraps her arms around him.

He doesn’t cry, he’s already shed most of the tears he can offer for this war, but she holds him close, and that’s enough for this moment.

***

**_February, 1948_ **

Sam had been invited out to Oregon City for Beverly and Christopher’s birthday. The train ride west, and then north, had kept him busy, whittling away while Rosa read a book.

He’s just working on finishing a very lifelike little beaver when the stop is called. He and Rosa get off of the train fast enough, and he’s glad to have a few more minutes to whittle when he realizes that they have arrived fairly early. 

He’s just brushing off the final few shavings off the little beaver when the car pulls up, Adam waving at them. Rosa smiles at him as they set their things in the back and then get in. “How ya doing, kiddo?” She asks, ruffling his hair.

He smiles, signing.  **I’m doing good. Everyone else is here already, so I got sent to pick you up.** Adam turns to look at him.  **Bev said you’re not to start fights with California, difficult as that may be.**

“Damnit, Rosa, best get back on the train, there go all my plans.” Sam snorts, and Rosa laughs.

“Behave, or the anklebiter’ll have you brought down at the knees.”

Adam laughs as well, and then starts the car. 

It’s a nice drive to the little place on the outskirts of the city, the trees thick as they go up a hill and reach a small little house.

Clark comes out and waves as they step out of the car, and then heads back inside, and soon enough Beverly comes out, yelling a greeting to them. He laughs, and he and Rosa head inside. 

Alejandra waves from the couch, and he’s not surprised to see Charlotte’s made the trip across the country, talking to Alejandra quietly. Chris comes out of the kitchen with a grin, and Sam pretends that he doesn’t shoot Beverly’s twin brother a  _ look _ when he hugs Rosa. 

He’s seen everyone except Martha and Roberto.

He waits until things have calmed down a little to head into the kitchen, to get a glass of water, he says, but in truth, he expects that’s where he’ll find Washington and California.

And there’s Martha’s red hair, as she checks something in the oven, and Roberto.

He pretends not to notice how, as he gets himself a glass of water, that Martha excuses herself from the room, or that Rob’s eyes have fallen on his back.

“Don’t expect me to thank you.” Roberto finally says once they’re alone.

“I wasn’t.” Sam says, turning and glancing at Roberto’s  _ ‘hardware’ _ as Beverly calls it.

The leg brace is prominent over his clothes, holding his leg straight, and the pair of walking sticks supporting his weight. Sam recognizes the brace as the same style used for polio patients. Roberto could put it under his clothes, he surely can afford to have the right type of pants made, but he refuses, it seems.

“So they’re letting you put weight on it again now?”

“Finally…” Roberto growls. “Felt like I couldn’t do jack shit, having to keep my weight off of it entirely for four months. And now I’ve got to wear this every day for two years at least. It’s your fucking fault.”

“Hmm, that it may be. But at least it will heal right.” He drinks his glass of water, finishing it easily. “Alfred’s said you’re not to be allowed in any military engagements for at least ten years when he heard.”

“Fuck you.” Roberto snaps again, although there’s no real bite to it as he leans back against the counter. “Yeah, I got that letter, I know that perfectly well.”

There’s quiet, and Sam turns to get more water, but Roberto doesn’t keep quiet. “So, you want to gloat now? Here’s your chance.” 

Sam takes another sip of water before responding. “It was never about gloating over you.” He turns, and doesn’t make eye contact with Roberto. “Just… take care of yourself. For your hermanitas and hermanito if nothing else.”

And with that said, he leaves the kitchen as fast as he can, out into the living room. He doesn’t want Roberto to try to make this a fight, or look in his eyes and have him see the emotions running around in his head. He glances around, and spots Beverly sitting close to Charlotte, talking quietly.

He sighs. At least they’re happy. He whispers a quiet  _ thank you _ to Beverly before slipping out the door to go smoke out in the trees. He’ll wait until most of the smoke scent has faded away and hopefully gotten less strong on his clothing before going back inside. Otherwise, Beverly will complain about the smell.

***

Inside, Martha re-enters the kitchen to check on dinner, and Roberto stands there, looking out the window over the sink, where he’s just watched Sam disappear into the trees.

He doesn’t understand Sam, he really doesn’t. Why would he care? God, why does  _ he _ even care what the Texan thinks of him? Good Lord, he knows he shouldn’t fantasize about what will never be.

But as he stands there with crutches in hand, gazing out the window, he sighs.

Beverly’s begun to hint things at him, things he  _ can’t _ and  _ won’t _ believe. How could Sam give a flying fuck about a man like him? Hell, just look at their history together!

It’s never going to change, why should Roberto expect it too?

He grits his teeth slightly as he steps away, keeping at least part of his weight off his leg, and heads into the living room, setting himself down in a chair and sighing.

He should just enjoy this moment with his family as best he can, and know that in a few years, this deep pain will fade. And then he’ll grab Beverly and take her out onto the dance floor and show her a thing or two about how to dance.

With that little thought of dancing again and proving he hasn’t lost his stuff, he sighs again, and does his best to put the Texan out of his mind for a little while.

He’s just going to enjoy the day, and no one can stop him.

**Author's Note:**

> So, credit due where credit is due, here is a list of who owns what OCs, and what state they represent
> 
> hips_of_steel's OCs (http://hipsofsteel.tumblr.com/)  
> California: Roberto  
> Oregon: Beverly  
> Baja California: Chelo  
> Nyo!Washington State: Adam  
> Nyo!Oregon: Christopher  
> New York: Jan Kees  
> Washington State: Martha  
> Idaho: Clark  
> Nyo!California: Alejandra  
> Montana: Helen
> 
> crikadelic's OCs (https://crikadelic.tumblr.com/)  
> Texas: Sam  
> Wyoming: June  
> Nyo!Texas: Rosa  
> Georgia: Jackie  
> Louisiana: Ellis  
> Arizona: Lilakai  
> New Mexico: Victorio  
> Nevada: Haiwee  
> Maine: Charlotte
> 
> bottot's OCs (https://bottot.tumblr.com/)  
> Florida: Marco  
> Alabama: Russell
> 
> zapphi's OCs (http://zapphi.tumblr.com/)  
> Massachusetts: Seth
> 
> morning-gloree21's OCs (http://morning-gloree21.tumblr.com/)  
> Kansas: Evelyn


End file.
